and now the waves unfold

how strange to hear arguments in my mind (a broken ribbon of wind) and sense them as being the most audible thing in a theater. the silence of a film casts our bodily functions into the spotlight. a digestive peep or squeal barely audible but high in pitch is cast out amidst such dark human sea and somehow understood by cave bellowing hunger pains that are deeper and further away. we speak our intestinal sounds as anchors and ports, ports and buoys to one another. we remember how we have been passing each other gradually, but only able to drift or float past one another to a certain unnameable distance.

i see a pan of foliage, my eye, foliage huntress, i spying and hiding in foliage. a thorn was always a stem. a stem was always a stalk.

i wanted to know beyond the blotches of new shapes and worlds that the light splotches cut and afforded my eye. but then i felt my eye wandering inward away from sight and i trusted what i didn't recognize because when it moved, panning into a brilliant light streak, it reminded me of being. when i thought i saw a galaxy of clouds expanding into a universe of night sky as snow clumps on a car's back seat window i forgot for a moment that a tree rings of a truer map of the body, its history a folded whisper. after that, i didn't want to know beyond my eye.

mocking birds perched on the same branch, surely a sigh of relief was heaved from our breast as we recognized there was no theme, there were no characters, there was no narrative unfolding. And to think that this absence had been unfolding around us all along.